Hurt and Comfort in Hawaii
by PenPatronus
Summary: COMPLETE Story #1 Danny gets shot during the hostage standoff at Grace's dance. Steve panics. Story #2 Steve shouldn't swim alone when he's suffering from radiation poisoning. Danny volunteers to be his lifeguard. Story #3 Danny's nephew Eric doubts that his Uncle D is a good man. Steve tells him the answer. Danny shows him. WHUMP & BROMANCE
1. Stay With Me

**Summary:** Danny gets shot during the hostage standoff at Grace's dance. Steve panics. Alternate ending to 'Hana Komo Pae," episode 8 of season 7.

 **Hurt and Comfort in Hawaii**

PenPatronus

Story 1

 **Stay With Me**

Steve McGarrett's mind checked off the tasks on his to-do list at warp speed. The kidnappers were all on the floor, their weapons had been confiscated, and although the last gunman got a few shots off when he went down, none of the hostages were bleeding. Someone shouted, "Clear!" "It's over," Kono announced.

Steve flipped the safety on his weapon. Business tasks: check. He switched off that part of his brain and went into personal-mode.

"Grace," he croaked. Sweat blossomed from every pore. "Where's Grace…?" He scanned the room for a familiar face. " _Where's Grace Williams_?" he yelled. Steve's knees started to shake.

"Uncle Steve!"

A heavenly sound. "Grace!" Steve gasped at the sight of her jumping up, struggling not to trip in her heels and pink gown. Her arms went around his neck and her face burrowed into his shoulder. If he wasn't holding a semi-automatic, he would've scooped the teenager up into his arms and folded her against his chest like she was an 8-year-old again. Steve closed his red-rimmed eyes and struggled to steady his breaths.

He felt the blood before he saw it. Something felt too warm. Steve held Grace at arm's length and examined her left shoulder. "Gracie, are you hurt?" he gasped. "There's blood—are you bleeding? _Baby, are you bleeding_?"

Grace frowned at the blood on her skin. "I'm good," she insisted. Trembling hands clawed at the splashes on the left side of her dress. "It's not me—it's not mine!"

Steve's stomach dropped to his boots, and continued sinking into the floor. In his mind's eye, he saw the last gun shooting off rogue bullets. Of all the directions one bullet could've gone…

"No," Steve whispered. His own voice echoed in his head.

Grace put two-and-two together. She whirled around and would've catapulted herself at her dad if Chin hadn't appeared to hold her back. " _Danno_!" she cried.

Danny Williams was on his feet. He held his folded black tie against his chest, but the bandage didn't block the sight of the blood already pooled on the floor. "Grace, listen to me," he said in his best "dad" voice. "It's not as bad as it looks, monkey, ok?"

Steve set his gun down, sidestepped Grace, and put a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Sit down, Danny. Danny? I need you to sit down."

Danny didn't seem to hear him. "I'm all right, see?" he said, gesturing at his mostly clean shirt and his steady feet. "Now, I need you to go with Chin. Uncle Steve's going to patch me up and I'll see…I'll see you…" Danny swayed. "Grace, I'll see you soon. I love—I love you…" He teetered…

"Danny— _Danny_!" Steve wrapped one arm around his partner's waist and the other slid behind his neck.

The blood-soaked tie fell out of Danny's limp hand. Gracie started screaming. "Don't let her see me die, Steve," Danny begged in Steve's ear. "Don't let her see…"

" _DANNO_!"

"Chin, get her out of here!" Steve ordered. He landed hard on one knee as Danny collapsed against him. He gently lowered his partner to the floor while keeping his cheek cushioned against his chest. Grace's cries faded.

"She's so beautiful in that dress," Danny muttered against Steve's vest. "Isn't she beautiful? She's a knock…A knock out…" Danny's eyes slid shut.

"Dammit, Danny, stay awake!" Terror briefly clogged Steve's throat, and he had to cough to clear it. He patted Danny's cheek with shaking fingers. "Danny, come on. Danny— _Danny_!"

"I'm here, babe," Danny whispered. His eyes stayed closed. He took a deep breath like he was about to dive into water. "When Gracie gets married, I want you to walk her down the aisle. You hear me? I want it to be you."

Steve shook his head. "I can't do this. I can't have this conversation. I won't!" Someone—Kono, he assumed—shoved a thick wad of gauze into his hands. Steve held half of it against the entry point in Danny's back, and the other half over the exit wound in Danny's chest. His cargo pants were already soaked in his partner's blood.

"Paramedics are on their way!" Lou Grover shouted in the distance. "Clear out all these kids! Don't block the hallways!" Lou's voice faded to white noise in the background of Steve's attention.

Steve cleared his throat. "Here's what's going to happen, partner. This is what's going to happen, because it's what always happens. You'll go to the hospital, you'll feel better tomorrow, and we'll go back to chasing bad guys the day after that. Got it? Before you know it, you and I will be back in the car, arguing, driving each other nuts, and saving the world, right? All right?"

Blue eyes blinked up at him. The look on Danny's ghost-white face was almost…pity. "I'm sorry, Steve," he whispered. "Should've told you…"

"What?" Steve demanded. "Should've told me what, Danny?"

"I was going to tell you eventually…Thought maybe I could handle a couple more years in Five-0, then be a house-mouse desk-jockey for the rest of my life…" Danny coughed. There was blood on his lips.

An ambulance howled in the distance. Steve looked down at Danny's chest and saw that blood had already soaked through the gauze. He angled his left arm so that Danny could look into his eyes without straining his neck. "Danno…"

"Had my fair share of injuries, babe. Had them a little too fast, too soon. Poisoned, broken bones, ACL, got shot a few times…Stabbed…" Danny coughed again. Blood splattered against Steve's shirt collar. "Doc said it was getting to be too much. For my heart, you know? He maybe, kinda, sorta, might have mentioned that I should take myself out of the line of fire because the next incident might, well…My heart might not be able to handle it."

Steve stretched his head straight back and glared daggers at the ceiling. "And when, exactly, did he tell you that?"

A pause. Danny sighed. "When I gave Charlie bone marrow…"

Steve snorted. When he lowered his head, he didn't even try to wipe away the tears streaming down his cheeks. "And after that you…You still gave me half of your liver…And now, and now this…"

Pain must have finally caught up with the shock, because Danny's entire body suddenly buckled and he smashed his nose against Steve's chest to stifle a cry.

Steve held him tighter. He lowered his forehead until it rested gently against Danny's. "Why are you telling me this now?" he whispered.

"You know why." Danny's left hand grabbed a fistful of Steve's black t-shirt and held on as if for dear life. "So you won't be surprised if my heart gives out because of this…" He nodded his chin at the bullet hole in his ribs. "Might not make it this time, babe…Gotta, I don't know…Prepare yourself or something…"

Steve's Adam's apple bounced in his throat. "You lied to me."

"Did not, you animal. I just didn't tell the _whole_ truth…" Danny suddenly panted, went limp, and completely relaxed in Steve's arms. His hand let go of the cotton t-shirt, and it would've fallen to the floor, but Steve caught it, interlaced their fingers, and held Danny's hand with a vice-grip. Danny's voice dropped so low that Steve could barely hear him. "Don't give me 'aneurism face.' Don't hate me, babe."

"I love you, partner," Steve said immediately. He sniffed. Tears flowed freely. "Love you so much, Danny."

Tears welled up in Danny's eyes. "Love you, too, brother," he whispered. "So much. _So_ much…" Danny shut his eyes. He chuckled briefly, then said, "You're firing me from Five-0, aren't you…"

"Steve, the paramedics are coming!" Chin announced. "They're in the building. Step aside, brah. Let them take care of him."

"Give me a second," Steve snapped. He hugged Danny as close as he could, and whispered in his ear, "You're damn right you're fired. But, I'll tell you what, you make it through this alive and I'll only suspend you, got it? You hear me?" Steve shook him slightly. "Danny, stay with me…" He touched blood-stained fingers against a cold, pale cheek. " _ **Danny**_ …?" he sobbed.

"Steve," Danny whispered, half a moment before he passed out.

* * *

 _48 Hours Later_

Steve clawed his fingernails through his short hair. "Gracie, you are so very much your father's daughter. I know you're anxious, but I need you to stop pacing, baby, please."

Grace froze mid-stride. She stood in the center of the hospital room, at the foot of her father's bed. "How long does it take someone to come out of sedation?" she demanded. Tears flooded her eyes. "Is it a bad sign that it's taking him this long? It's a bad sign, isn't it!"

Steve covered his face with his hands, and then parted his fingers so that he could peek at his partner. More wires and tubes than Steve cared to count were going in and out of Danny's unconscious body. His entire torso was bandaged up tight and thick like a mummy and there was a cannula in his nose, but he was breathing on his own and his blood pressure was slowly rising. Steve braced his hands against his thighs and stood up. He stood up extra slowly, because several pints of his own blood were currently pumping through Danny's body. "Come here," he said to Grace. Steve lowered the railing of the hospital bed, and patted his hand against the mattress. "Come here and lay down beside him. Tell Danno you're here, alright? Just let him know we're here with him. That'll help."

Grace sighed and rolled her eyes, but obeyed. She wiped her eyes and adjusted her t-shirt. And then she curled up in the bed beside her father with both of her arms wrapped around one of his, adjusting his hand so that it rested around her waist. She pressed her face against his bare shoulder and started to speak. "Daddy," she whispered, "it's Grace. Grace and Uncle Steve. Kono and Chin, Will and Mr. Grover are in the waiting room with Mom and Charlie. We're here waiting for you to wake up and I'm…I'm missing chemistry right now." A sniff followed Grace's chuckle. "So, wake up. Uncle Steve promises you're not fired. And I want to tell you about Will, and tell you I'm sorry so, wake up."

Steve stared at Danny's fingers where they rested on Grace's shirt. His stomach suddenly tightened as if he was watching a bowling ball about to smash into his bellybutton. On instinct, he scooted his chair closer, wrapped his arm around Grace's back, and interlocked his fingers with Danny's. While Grace talked, alternating between telling her dad stories about Charlie's antics and begging him to wake up, Steve focused on squeezing and tapping on Danny's hand. He sent his own messages to his partner through a simple Morse code:

 _Wake up, Danno._

 _I need you._

 _Stay with me, Danny._

An hour passed. Two more followed. Grace fell asleep. Steve still sat in the chair, tap-tap-tapping.

Another hour passed. Three more followed. Steve kept his hand on Danny, but put his head down on the mattress to sleep.

At first, he thought that he was imagining the pressure of Danny's fingers against his. He was half-asleep, and it wasn't enough to wake himself up. But then that pressure turned into taps. Tap, tap, tap…

 _Wake up, super-SEAL._

 _I need you._

 _I'm with you, Steve._

McGarrett slowly lifted his eyes so that he could just see past Grace's head.

Glazed, blinking blue eyes greeted him.

A smile said his name.

 **The End**


	2. Lifeguard

**Summary:** Steve discovers—the hard way—that it isn't safe to swim alone when he's suffering from radiation poisoning. Danny volunteers to be his lifeguard.

 **Hurt and Comfort in Hawaii**

Story 2

PenPatronus

 **Lifeguard**

Danny returned to Steve's house just after dawn the morning following Jerry's party. The pair only shared brief conversations the night before, and exchanged not one word after Steve admitted the secret that he was sick from radiation poisoning. Danny didn't sleep. He didn't even try to. A moment after he put Charlie to bed he got online and spent the entire night learning everything he could about uranium poisoning. Repeatedly he told himself that the more research he did, the more he understood, the more he was to predict what to expect, then the better he'd feel.

In the morning, Charlie emerged from his bedroom to find his father sitting on the kitchen floor, head between his knees, _weeping_.

The drive from his house to Rachel's, and then from Rachel's to Steve's gave Danny time to pull himself together. Although his eyes were still bloodshot when he checked his reflection, his tears had dried up and his face was no longer pale. Collected, poised, determined to act like everything was and would be perfectly fine, Danny picked up the protein smoothie he'd bought for his partner and headed into the house without knocking.

"Brought breakfast, babe!" Danny called. "Something to hold you over until I make us bacon, eggs, and coffee. Where you at?" Danny noticed the dishes piled up in Steve's sink, the overflowing trashcan in the doorframe, the chairs still arranged in the living room. Usually his partner stayed up late cleaning after a party. The Navy man couldn't sleep if there was one dust bunny in his space. Danny put his keys on the counter and frowned at the silence. "Steve?"

Sunlight shone brighter through the open door to the backyard. Water beyond the green grass and wooden chairs sparkled with whites and blues. He noticed the red, first. Red shorts, red blood. A body lay face down on the sand, half in and half out of the water. The concoction of ice, water, kale, strawberries, bananas, raspberries, blueberries, wheat grass, and protein powder exploded at Danny's feet when he dropped the cup, shocked. " _ **Steve**_!"

He must have run Olympic-fast, faster than he ever had in his life, because one minute, Danny was looking at his unmoving partner and the next, he was on his knees in the wet sand. "You better be breathing," Danny said, "because I'm not giving you CPR. Hell, _no,_ am I giving you CPR!" Trembling hands slid under Steve's bare chest like crowbars and flipped him over onto his back. Blood leaked from the SEAL's nose and mixed with the saltwater into a glittering pink.

Danny almost fainted with relief when Steve McGarrett's brilliant blue eyes blinked up at him and he whispered, "Hey."

"Well, hi there!" Danny greeted with artificial sincerity. "Good morning, Steven, are you drowning? You look like you're drowning."

McGarrett coughed once and licked his sunburned lips. Waterdrops hovered on the tips of his eyelashes. "I, uh…" he began. "I was just out for a swim. Do it every morning. And…"

Danny couldn't stop himself from touching every inch of visible skin as if Steve was hiding a weapon. "And then…?" he prompted. "I don't see any shark bites. No jellyfish stings. No barbs or fangs or gunshot wounds. Did you just feel like pretending to be a dead fish or—I don't know—did something go wrong?" Danny's face turned red, and it had nothing to do with the sun. "Is it my imagination or does that vomit floating in the foam belong to you?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "This has never happened before, Danny. It's never been a problem."

Danny shifted, unapologetically, into full-on Mother Hen mode. It didn't escape his notice that Steve hadn't even tried to stop the bleeding, let alone sit up. "Let me guess what happened, Steven," he hissed. "You went for a swim— _alone_. And while you were swimming _alone_ , alone and without a lifejacket—alone, lifejacket-less, and suffering from horrendous radiation poisoning—you puked, you started bleeding and then, when you were dogpaddling back to shore, the fatigue hit. It hit you hard, _so_ hard that you almost passed out."

"Well done, Sherlock," Steve mumbled. "Where's my towel—"

" _I'm not finished_!" Danny bellowed. "You fainted a minute, no, _seconds_ after you reached shallow water. What if I hadn't shown up before the tide came in? What if this had happened while you were driving? Or surfing? Or flying a helicopter? Or when you jumped on that truck?" Danny wanted to hit or throw something, but all he could reach for was a handful of wet sand. Frustrated, downright irate, he heaved the handful at a passing seagull. "You're not driving. You're not driving until you can prove to me that you won't get yourself killed. And you're not swimming—not alone, you hear me? You need a lifeguard on McGarrett beach, then I'm there, all right? But promise. Swear on my daughter's soul that you won't swim alone!"

Danny was so busy shouting that he didn't notice Steve's eyes slide shut. When he did, a new wave of terror sent goosebumps up the back of his neck. His voice softened. "Steve. Babe?" Danny shook his partner's shoulders. "Steve, stay awake. Stay awake."

"Mmm," his partner hummed in reply.

Danny felt Steve's white cheek, and then his forehead. "God. You're burning up." He ripped off his narrow black tie, wrapped it around his hand, and pressed the fabric to Steve's nose. "Gotta get you to a hospital."

"No." Steve swatted the tie away and grabbed his partner's wrist. "No need. Nothing they can do, anyway. Have to wait this out… Let the meds do their thing." Steve's grip loosened, then failed. Danny caught his hand before it splashed back into the water. "Another minute and I'll feel fine. Just need one more minute…"

Silence followed a frustrated sigh. Gently, Danny rested his chin on the back of Steve's trembling hand. Saltwater filled his shoes. Garbage-scented seaweed got caught on Steve's swim trunks. A ghost crab skittered past.

60 seconds passed. 120. Four minutes.

Danny poured on the sarcasm. "Wow, look at you. Think you moved a finger. Slow down, Steve, don't wear yourself out."

Steve used his opposite hand to cover his eyes like a mask. Both his lower lip and chin quaked. His breath hitched and his Adam's apple bounced. It was such an intimate moment of vulnerability that Danny couldn't help but look away. He scraped off the seaweed and lobbed it over the crab's skull.

Steve spoke after another 60 seconds. "I don't know how to do this… I don't know how to _**be**_ this."

Danny pressed his lips together tight. The space between his eyebrows crinkled like wrapping paper. "Be what, babe?"

"Be sick. Crippled. Handicapped. Helpless… Dependent."

Emotion shrunk Danny's airway. "I don't know what to do when you're sick," he admitted. "Point me at a bad guy to shoot or a pill to give you—"

"Or a liver," Steve snorted softly.

"If I could, I'd trade places with you in a second. Less than a second. You know I would." Danny shook his head and tightened the muscles where their fingers interlaced. "Tell me what I can do, Steve. You gotta tell me how I can help. I'm going crazy over here."

McGarrett lowered his hand. Tears hovered on the edges of his eyes, but didn't drip. "Do me a favor—can you just… Just stay here for a while? Just until I can, uh, sit up? Maybe until I can walk back into the house? I'm not asking you to bring me breakfast in bed or make me soup or put me to the couch, but—"

"Steven." The way Danny said his name instantly shut him up. Danny immediately tossed his shoes aside and lay down flat, fully clothed in the shallow water, parallel to Steve. "I'm not going anywhere," Danny promised.

Nothing in the apathetic blue sky above noticed the pair. The sand, the sun, the water, none of it cared that Steve McGarrett was suffering. The whales, the sharks, and the fish didn't care that Danny Williams' heart was pumping the way it did when he got claustrophobic. The earth continued to spin. Tourists continued to surf and take selfies. Hawaii kept smiling.

And then Steve said, so softly that Danny could've mistaken his voice for the breeze, "This could kill me, Danno," he croaked. "It _**is**_ killing me."

Articles and blogs and forum posts flashed through Danny's memory. "I know. Did my homework last night. I… I know…" he whispered. "But whatever happens…" Danny pointed at the pair of them lying shoulder-to-shoulder in the muck. "Whatever happens, Steve, I swear—I swear I'll be right here." Danny spoke the next phrase like a vow. "I will _not let you_ _ **drown**_."

 **The End**

(Reviews are always appreciated!)


	3. Uncle D

**Summary:** Eric doubts that his Uncle D is a good man. Steve tells him the answer. Danny shows him. Takes place after season 7 but before season 8.

 **Hurt and Comfort in Hawaii**

PenPatronus

Story 3

 **Uncle D**

It was one of _those_ mornings. His alarm didn't go off, his front tire was flat, a check bounced, the milk in his fridge spilled overnight, and his girlfriend sent him a text informing him that she was no longer his girlfriend. And, on top of that, he forgot both his ADD meds and his morning energy drink.

Eric Russo sprinted into the crime lab with a ham and cheese bagel clutched to his chest like a running back with a football. His white lab coat hung off one shoulder and his button-down shirt was only half buttoned-up. Eric put on his happy-go-lucky smile and tipped up his chin with artificial confidence. "I'm only 12 minutes late!" he announced to his indifferent coworkers. "That's right, Russo fans, my average arrival time has improved a whole four-and-a-half minutes since last month. Hear me, haters? I'm getting, like, 20 seconds better every day!"

Three slow, sarcastic claps behind him. Eric's face fell when he spotted the pair of men waiting at his desk. "Can't wait to tell your mom that!" said Danny Williams. He stuck one thumb up in the air and grinned. "So professional! You make the Williams family proud, buddy."

Steve McGarrett elbowed his partner's upper arm. "Give the kid a break, Danny."

"A break? Like, break his arm? Gladly." Danny eyed his nephew up and down. "Is that the same shirt you had on yesterday? What, did you forget to put on clean clothes?"

"It's on my to-do list!" Eric took a giant bite of his bagel and continued speaking while he chewed. "Good morning, Commander McGarrett, lovely to see you. You want to step aside, Uncle D? I've got important work to do!"

"Uh huh." Danny gestured to the desk chair like it was a throne. "Forgive me, Mr. Important. Have you finished double-checking that _important_ fingerprint we sent you?"

"For the Sykes trial? I analyzed all the evidence for that one! Russo magic from exhibit A to Z. The prosecutors already have it. It should've been on your desk this morning, dude!"

"Well, it wasn't, _dude_!" Danny bellowed. Steve chuckled.

"Must've gotten lost in the interoffice mail, Uncle D!"

"He still hasn't gotten it through his melon of a head that he should refer to me as 'Detective Williams' in public," Danny said to Steve.

"Why should he?" Steve shrugged. "I don't."

"You, my friend, are sort of my boss so you can get away with it. Little lab punks should not call me 'Uncle D,' or 'Danny,' or 'Danno,' and definitely not 'dude!'"

"Lab punks?" Eric sputtered.

" _Sort of_ your boss?" said Steve. He lowered his voice so that the entire room could no longer hear him, and said, "Seriously, buddy, Eric's been doing great work. Who cares if he isn't always professional? Have you seen Jerry's t-shirts?"

Danny held his hands out to McGarrett, in supplication. "Whose side are you on? Are you on my side, because you're supposed to be on my side!"

Steve held his hands up, in surrender. "Yikes, here comes the Jersey Devil. We don't actually need that report now, Danny. Why do you care that he's 15 minutes late?"

Eric gulped down a bite of cheese. "12!" he clarified.

A blush rose up Danny's cheeks. "Why do I care? What if because he's 15 minutes late, we get the information 15 minutes late, and then we're 15 minutes late to save someone's life, huh? What about that?"

"12," Steve softly corrected.

"And, I'm sorry, but what about me? What about the way he represents my family, huh?" Danny demanded. "I helped him get this job and all he's done since is embarrass me!"

Anger like fire sparked up Eric's throat. He was in _no_ mood for his morning to get any worse. He thought of his car sitting in the parking lot on three wheels. He thought of the milk that showered his one pair of work shoes when he opened the fridge that morning. He thought about how his girlfriend broke up with him: via text, complete with a long, detailed list of his faults. "I'm an embarrassment, huh?" Eric tossed his bagel onto his keyboard. He finished buttoning his shirt, putting on his lab coat, and smoothing down the sewn nametag on the left side of his chest. "You want to lecture me about protecting the family reputation, Uncle De- _tective_ Williams? You should've given that speech to _Uncle Matty_!"

Danny stood frozen except for his flaring nostrils. Steve bowed his head and muttered, "Oh, boy…"

Eric couldn't resist the momentum of his own words. "You act like you're the perfect role model superhero—like you're better than me, better than Mom, better than Rachel, and Aunt Bridget!"

Stunned silence from the rest of the lab. Every tech stared at the scene, equally dumbfounded and amused.

"You're just McGarrett's sidekick, man! He leads. He drives. He's first through the door whenever you're in the field. What do you do? Just stand around making sarcastic comments while he saves the world?"

Steve growled " _Eric_!" deep and low in the back of his throat.

Eric took one step forward—a step forward into his uncle's personal space. The tension was almost audible, like crackling electricity. "And speaking of Uncle Matty, and speaking of gossip and legacy and reputation, don't you realize who's the biggest disappointment in the family? _You_."

"Eric, _don't_!" Steve ordered. Danny's trembling hands rolled into fists.

"You're the disappointment not because you got divorced, not because you knocked up your ex-wife, not because you didn't save Matty, but because you—"

Steve gripped Danny's elbow, but his eyes didn't leave Eric. "If you say it," he warned, "you'll regret it."

Eric ignored the commander. "You were imprisoned in Columbia. It's a family secret that everyone knows, but they're too ashamed to talk about it." He slowed down the tempo of his mocking voice. "You shot an unarmed man, _Detective_ Williams. You are a cold-blooded _**murderer**_."

Eric, Danny, and Steve all assumed that they were the reason for the sudden gasp of horror that rippled through the room.

They weren't.

Wide eyes focused on the lab entrance as a bulldog of a man with spiky blond hair and grease-stained jeans burst in with a gun in one hand and a manila envelope in the other. "My name," said the intruder, "is Leroy Sykes. Soon, Milton Sykes will be in prison because of…" Sykes re-read the name on the interoffice envelope labeled 'Five-0.' " _Because of some dead man named Eric Russo_!"

Eric heard McGarrett shouting out of the corner of his ear. In the corner of his eye he saw Danny unsheathe his weapon.

Tears filled and then overflowed from Sykes' bloodshot eyes. "Can't save my nephew," he shouted. "Can't shoot the lawyers, the judge, can't get the arresting officers, can't get to that witness but I got in here, by god, and I…" Sykes spotted Eric's nametag, and grinned. "I will _**kill you**_!"

Eric's jaw dropped. He stared, a deer in the headlights, directly into the barrel of Sykes' gun.

Something blocked his view barely a heartbeat later.

Danny didn't shove Eric aside in slow motion.

No one could see the shape and size of the bullet as it rippled the air like in the movies.

There wasn't a sad ballad playing in the background to underscore the irony.

Just sounds: _whoosh, crack, pop, pop, thud_.

Eric heard the _whoosh_ of his Uncle D's clothes, the _crack_ of Sykes' gun, the _pop, pop_ of McGarrett's, and the _thud_ when Danny landed, spread-eagled, on his back.

Voices wailed. People shouted at other people to call '911.' Blood gushed from the center of Sykes' chest, spouting from two clean holes barely half an inch apart. His open eyes saw nothing.

Eric heard a voice repeating his name, but didn't recognize it as Steve's until the commander yanked him down to his knees and shoved gauze into his lap. McGarrett told Eric to put pressure on Danny's wound the way a mother would ask her kids to clean up the table after supper—robotic, poised, almost apathetic. Footsteps thundered—some escaping, others rushing in. Eric reminded himself that a headwound could bleed more and therefore look worse than it actually was. He reminded himself over, and over, and over, and over again as he scrambled to catch the warm blood dripping from Danny's hair.

Dozens of faces hovered around but Danny's glazed, slowly blinking eyes focused only on his partner. With a gentleness that surprised Eric, McGarrett rotated Danny's neck and used his hands like blinders to keep his partner from seeing the blood. Steve whispered words too soft for Eric to hear. Danny replied, equally as soft, and Steve chuckled. Steve licked his lips, bit the bottom one—hard—and then whispered again. Danny nodded, but only once. His eyes rolled back and disappeared into their sockets.

"Uncle D?" Eric whispered.

"Please _. Danny_?" Steve's composure crumbled. " _ **DANNY**_!"

* * *

Eric stood frozen in the doorframe of the dim hospital room with a batch of helium balloons. He hesitated to enter for a dozen reasons, but primarily for three:

1\. He hesitated because of the last words he said to his uncle.

2\. He hesitated because of the beeping machines and the bandages over the surgical glue over the stitches across Danny's right temple. (Oh, Danny was going to be so pissed when he saw that missing swatch of hair.)

3\. He hesitated because the only other person in the room was likely to toss him off the roof.

Eric watched as Steve adjusted the hospital bed until he found the perfect angle that enabled his unconscious partner to breathe comfortably. He replaced the thin pillows and their itchy covers with large, downy rectangles obviously brought from home, and kept in the car for such emergencies. The second that Danny shivered, Steve tugged the bedsheet closer to his chin. The second that Danny sweated, he pulled it back down. Instead of rough hospital booties, Danny had on a new pair of his favorite striped socks. When Danny pawed at his IV or scratched at his bandages, Steve gently plucked his hand away to keep him from hurting himself.

Eric's mind flashbacked to high school when he broke the county record for number of suspensions in a year. Walking into the hospital room felt like walking into detention, except the principal was a Navy SEAL, and the victim was his uncle, not a faceless nerd with grape jelly in his peach fuzz.

"Sit down, Eric."

Eric cringed. Steve gave him an order, not an invitation. He took one step back out instead of in. "Maybe I shouldn't be here."

Steve rubbed calloused hands down the stubble on his cheeks. "You and I need to have a talk. Sit down." Steve sat by the window, on Danny's left, and gestured for Eric to sit in a wooden, polyester-lined chair on Danny's right.

"Do we, uh, have to do this now?" Steve gave Eric a look that said without words that he was _not_ going to repeat himself. Eric sighed. He left the balloons to hover against the ceiling and tiptoed over to the bed. "I've never done this before."

Steve blinked. "What?"

"Been in a hospital."

Steve's eyebrows jumped. "You've never been in a hospital?"

"Well, when my mom had me, yeah," Eric chuckled, "but that doesn't count."

Steve gave Danny a look like he expected his unconscious partner to roll his eyes. "Well, let me give you a lesson in hospital etiquette, Eric. First rule: whisper. Always whisper. Second, don't let the patient see how upset you are. And third, when someone you love gets shot in the head, you don't bring balloons that say 'Congratulations!'"

Eric swiveled in his seat. He hadn't noticed that the balloons featured an outline of a newborn's footprint beneath the phrase 'Congratulations! It's a boy!' "Oops," Eric gulped. Eric studied the numbers and lights blinking on nearby computer monitors. He meant to ask, "Is Uncle D going to be ok?" but his body betrayed him. Numbers and blood, wires and bandages, and the ironically sterile scent every hospital shares settled onto his chest like a lead apron, and water filled his eyes. "Is he…"

Steve read his mind. "He'll be ok," he said softly. "The bullet nicked him—didn't shave off anything vital. The crack in his skull is worse than the gunshot. Dumbass got shot in the head, then landed on his head."

"Yeah, I don't call him Uncle 'D' for 'Danny'—it's 'D' for 'Dumbass'!" Eric sat chuckling at his joke for a dozen seconds before he realized that Steve was not amused. "Get it? Uncle… Uncle Dumbass…?" The patient stirred at that moment. Danny mumbled vowels in his sleep and flexed his limbs. Steve placed his hand on Danny's forearm. The pressure appeared to calm and comfort his partner, so he left his hand there.

Steve spoke soft but sharp. "Eric, I want you to look at your uncle. _Look at him_." Eric shriveled under Steve's glare. He clamped his mouth shut and stared at the small space between Danny's right eyelid and the bandage above it. "Danny Williams is one of the finest men I've ever met. He's brave, he's loyal. If I wasn't such a control freak, he'd be the first one through every door no matter how many bad guys were behind it. He's saved me so many times, in so many ways. He gave me half his liver, but that organ isn't half as valuable as…" Steve's nostrils flared. He tightened his grip on Danny's arm. "As his friendship."

Eric nodded. He kept nodding like a bobble-head doll.

"He took a bullet for you today. My partner—" Steve's voice briefly broke. He cleared his throat before continuing. "My partner volunteered to die for you and in that moment, you were the last man on earth who deserved that gift. He gave it to you, anyway. And if I _ever_ , _**ever**_ , _**ever**_ hear you disrespect him, or speak of him as anything other than a hero… If you even _think_ that the lives he's saved haven't absolved him for the mistakes he's made, I will punch your teeth out one. By. One."

"I believe you," Eric whispered.

"You better." Steve relaxed back into his chair. Eric interpreted that as a clue that he was allowed to leave. He stood, but dropped back down when McGarrett snapped his fingers. "Stay there," Steve growled. "Stay there and think about what you're going to say when your uncle wakes up. I want an apology so sincere and moving that it brings tears to my eyes, got it?"

"Yes, Sir." Eric meant it.

"And, Eric, I don't give a damn if you're in public or at Thanksgiving. For the rest of your life you will refer to him as ' _Detective_ Williams', not 'Uncle D'."

"I will, Commander."

Steve nodded. "Good man."

The pair stared at Danny's closed eyes and corpse-colored face. Jaw set, back rigid, veins throbbing, throat working, Steve didn't take his eyes off Danny for any longer than a blink. And then, around the time that Eric's hungry stomach started growling, Danny opened his eyes and spotted the balloons. "Did I have a baby?" he croaked.

Steve touched his shoulder. "Hey."

Danny's eyes completely bypassed Eric when he rotated them towards his partner. "Guess my hair isn't bulletproof."

Steve smiled. He slid his hand between Danny's left ear and the pillow propping him up. "You're ok. You'll be ok."

Danny started to nod but immediately regretted the movement. Air hissed out between his front teeth and he clenched his mouth shut so hard that Eric heard the click. "Hurts, babe."

Steve's thumb grazed Danny's cheek. "I know."

Danny sighed. "I know you know." Suddenly, Danny's pallor turned ghost-white and, ignoring the pain, he sat up and reached for Steve with both hands like a child for a dad. "Eric," he gasped. "Is Eric—is Eric ok? Geeze, my sister's gonna shoot me in the head. Steve, is he ok? _Tell me he's ok_!"

Witnessing his uncle's emotion startled Eric. He cleared his throat to get Danny's attention, and then said, "I'm good. I'm here. I'm good."

Danny's limbs went limp at the sight of his nephew. "Oh, thank God." He made the shape of a gun with his thumb and forefinger and aimed it between his own eyes. "Right here. That's where Stella would shoot me. Right freaking here."

Eric sat up straight. "Unc—Detective Williams, Sir, there's something I'd like to say…"

 **The End**

(Thanks for the reviews!)


End file.
